


Burnt Sugar

by DotsAndStripes



Series: Sugar [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Famous Zayn, Female Character of Color, Romantic Comedy, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tea, Zayn Malik - Freeform, Zayn-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 19,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DotsAndStripes/pseuds/DotsAndStripes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Raw Sugar. Two Years Later</p><p>Sophie Adeng is back in Toronto. She’s got her dream job as a Junior Events Manager at Sparkle Events. So maybe, she’s on a first name basis with the Thai delivery guy. And perhaps, she doesn’t get out much anymore. Or at all.</p><p>But at least she’s not still in love with Zayn Malik. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I was at the office at 7 a.m. bright and early to start finalizing guest lists. I’d been at Sparkle Events for less than six months but it was a perfect fit. Located in Toronto’s Distillery District, it was a former factory converted into a loft with exposed brick walls and steel girders. Of course that meant I didn’t have my own office because really, no one did except the director, but I had my own desk in a loft corner to myself which more than I could say for some of the places I had interned.

My desk was my pride and joy. I picked it out of the catalogue myself–a glass table top with a giant paper calendar underneath covered entirely in my tiny pinched scribbles. Each month had its own theme, with a little doodle in the corner to match. September was birds.

Also my very first event entirely managed by me as the lead event co-ordinator.

I’d fought hard for it and this year’s Masquerade Ball for Cancer Research was mine to plan and direct.

Thanks to my calendar, when the courier came by with a blank envelope with nothing but my name I knew what it was. I opened it and there were two tickets for One Direction with VIP Passes.

I trembled for only a second before picking up the phone.

“Hey Jane. I have some great One Direction tickets for next week and I’d love to donate them.”

At this point, it was routine. Zayn must know by now I wouldn’t come but all of the girls from Sick Kids Hospital who I sent instead always reported meeting the band and getting photographs. I had stopped feeling vaguely guilty a year ago and it almost blended in with all the other event tickets I gave away because of work.

Back to it.

Chris, the other Junior Events Coordinator, and my only work friend, snuck up behind me while I pored over a seating chart for all the board members.

“Did you call in the catering numbers yet?” I jumped half a foot in the air.

“For fuck’s sake Chris. Aren’t you supposed to be doing site tours today for the Livingston wedding?” I asked.

“The future Mrs. Livingston has decided that maybe she does want to get married at the cottage and is re-enacting a wedding without my help in Muskoka with all twenty of her bridesmaids.” We both rolled our eyes. I was glad I’d stuck with corporate event planning and not weddings but he certainly had more interesting clients.

Dressed in greying skinny jeans, a rumpled pinstripe button down and a burgundy crushed velvet smoking jacket, Christopher Vance was kind of cute if you like tousle haired pouty hipster boys which I decidedly did not.

I liked Chris because he knew all the Sparkle office gossip, had fabulous taste in music and was wicked smart when he wasn’t mouthing off. Also, he tended to be both endearingly annoying and helpful in equal measures.

“Samantha will be pissed if they are not in by noon. Word is, O&B didn’t take her numbers for the MLSE party.“ I tutted sympathetically. Nothing could ruin an event like not having enough food. Practically everything else was forgivable, but that could lose you a client. And a client as important as the Toronto Maple Leafs wasn’t to be messed with even if you were a Senior Event Manager.

"Thanks for the tip. Guest list is final so I’ll call it in when they open and do a catering walkthrough this week.”

“Doing anything tonight?” Chris asked. We both knew the answer.

“The usual.” Netflix, tea and pyjamas. “How about you?” He draped himself across my desk and over my seating chart. I huffed and tried to push him off but he wouldn’t budge.

“Someone won’t go out and there is nothing on Tinder. No pretty girls for me, I shall have to spend the evening alone.” I scoffed and threw a balled up coffee receipt at him.

“Oh, get over yourself. Flirting with everyone is not a hobby. You should get one. ” And he leaned over so close I could see the tiny freckle on his nose and was starting to go cross eyed looking at it.

“It’s not a hobby. It’s a calling,” Chris said. I giggled.

That moment was when Samantha Young, my boss, walked by in her standard black shift dress and wrinkled her nose with disdain at the two of us as if we’d been fucking on my desk. I rolled away from Chris in my desk chair, heart pounding in my chest, but he didn’t so much as sit up. 

“Morning meeting is in three minutes. Bring your final week outline and your minute by minute for the Masquerade Ball.”

Today had the unfortunate distinction of being both a Long Day and a Meeting Day. So I followed after Samantha, with my event portfolio in tow.

She rearranged my seating plan and minute by minute. Even Arif, our Creative Director tore a strip out of the order I had the entertainment.

“The harpist will not be loud enough. Orchestra first. Finish with the pianist.” He said tersely. I nodded. Slightly terrified, I explained myself and negotiated some but not all changes.

Later, I limped into my apartment, kicking off my shoes as I went. It was a teeny tiny bachelor with fairly sparse furnishing—I had left so much in storage and since I didn’t really have people over there was only what I needed. Even books were left to pile up on each other instead of on a shelf. I vowed I would do something about it. Next week maybe.


	2. Chapter 2

Inhale. Exhale. One foot in front of the other.I discovered running in Vienna two years ago. The rhythm lulled me into a sense of calm I couldn’t find anywhere else. There was a bite in the air this morning, the promise of a chilly autumn lingering behind. It was still dark out and the streets were eerily quiet. I could’ve been all alone but for rustling in the trees and streetcars gliding by. 

I finished at 6 am, heart pounding and t-shirt sticking to my back. But today, I hadn’t been able to shake my anxiety. I’d stayed up until I was starting to feel nauseous at three am to put the last touches on the Masquerade Ball. I didn’t feel much better now but I could nap since I’d be working all night.

"What do you mean there's no electricity?" I asked the house sound technician six or so hours later. There were lights on but as he demonstrated there was no power from the plugs. I sent him to go look at the main switch while I picked up my cellphone. 

"Matysh, everything is plugged in and nothing has power. There are two thousand people coming in three hours. This is not good," I began. 

In a soft nonchalant voice Matysh, the on site venue manager said. "It will be back on in an hour. Some repairs." 

No big deal, right? I almost pulled out a curl. 

"I need power to set up the venue. An hour is no good." 

"I cannot do anything about it. I'm sorry Sophie."

Any reserve of patience I had ran out completely. 

"Matysh, this is a breach of contract. If I do not have power in fifteen minutes, Sparkle will never host another event at any of your venues." I had no leverage to promise such a thing but I hung up on her. Within ten minutes there was a generator online to wire the rest of the room. 

With a similar amount of pleading, begging and threats to caterers, movers, entertainers and a cranky ice sculptor about two hours later I finally went to go change. 

The dress, as I thought of it, was the single most expensive item of clothing I owned. A off the shoulder teal silk and chiffon floor length ball gown had caught my eye in the window at Holt Renfrew. I never stepped in that kind of store, but I tried it on, winced at the price tag and handed over my credit card.

I topped it off with a black pearl edged mask, a twisted wire tiara and a dab of plum lipstick. I went to the front door and started greeting patrons alongside Arif and his executive assistant Camille.

“Looks good.” Arif’s comment and curt nod were the highest praise. Camille had been momentarily struck by the fairytale forest, even though she’d seen all my ideas through the sketches.

I smiled brightly. We were at capacity and so many people had taken the masquerade theme to heart, even the special guests who were cancer survivors, caregivers, researchers and doctors. One of the doctors from Princess Margaret I recognized from his smile winked behind a vintage plague doctor’s mask.

“Everyone is in the hall. Stick with me and we’ll mingle together,” Camille said. She was as close to friendly as I’d ever seen her, pulling me into conversations about current news and politics while deftly managing not to express any opinions. I was distracted but giddy. Seeing my dream come true, finally feeling like my work mattered while greeting a little girl who couldn’t be older than ten years old but survived because of the research we were trying to fund.

A tall ruddy faced man in a black and white mask who had been hanging on the periphery of the conversation with a researcher pressed an empty glass into my hand, though it’d seemed he’d already had at least two.

“A glass of house red. Quick, quick.” I stared at him then at my dress, my face burning with humiliation. I wasn’t wearing black and none of the caterers had on masks. Camille slipped in smoothly.

“Mr. Reginald, this is Sophie Adeng. She was the lead event co-ordinator,” she laughed loudly as if she’d said something funny but with a bit of steel in her tone. His complexion turned even redder. I was still holding the stupid wineglass in front of me and she plucked it out of my hands smoothly.

“A glass of house red for this gentleman, please and thank you,” Camille said to a passing waitress. There was a tiny brittle moment as she pulled me into another circle of conversants and I thought I’d gone and offended someone important.

“Taylor Reginald is a fucking prick. He asked Samantha last year if she gave massages like he got in Thailand.” 

“He did not!” 

I snorted and we both rolled our eyes. I excused myself to try mingling on my own. I caught the eye of someone who looked a little out of place. Male, tousled black hair and youngish behind an ornate black mask. I smiled at him and then stumbled in surprise. He might’ve grown out his hair a little bit and was wearing a tuxedo but I’d recognize that smile anywhere. Zayn Malik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With everything on track, we're back to a Sunday update schedule.
> 
> [Tumblr] dotsandstripesxo
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always x


	3. Chapter 3

I turned around and headed through a side door into the adjacent anteroom which was quite empty. I ducked through to the bathroom that was probably a bride’s room during weddings and sat on a plush stool. My mouth was dry and I sipped absentmindedly on the glass of champagne I’d been nursing. 

Theoretically, I knew I would have had to run into Zayn sometime. I had always expected that it would be when I went to London to visit Aunt Wanda. Perhaps in an airport or in Los Angeles or even if I had to plan a music industry party. In every version of these scenarios, it didn’t matter because I kind of expected it. But this was my first event and I was not going to hide from Zayn fucking Malik. After that quick pep talk, I came right out and ran straight into him. 

He had taken off his mask and was fiddling with it. 

The first words that came out of my mouth after seeing him for the first time in two years?

“I thought you were supposed to be in New York.” I didn’t mean to say that. He shouldn’t know I kept that close tabs on him. 

“I flew down early, Sophie. Wanted to see if I could catch you.” My heart caught painfully in my chest as if it had snagged itself on a rib. His accent had softened a little, like he’d come into contact with too many people far from home. 

“Why?” 

“Sophie, couldn’t we still be friends? I miss you. I thought we were at least friends.”

He stepped in close and the scent of cinnamon still clung to him just as I remembered. I stepped back. 

“We can’t be friends, Zayn.” I spoke barely above a whisper but he nodded without flinching.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t just talk every once in a while.” He countered. Zayn was just a fraction too close and I felt overwhelmed. His argument didn’t even make sense and I was battling confusion, nausea and anger. 

“You’re engaged now. You’re going to be married someday soon. Don’t you think we should stop this nonsense? We don’t even know each other anymore.” I said it more sternly than I felt but he hardly seemed phased by my tone.

“Just because I’m engaged doesn’t mean I can’t have friends, Sophie. I thought after everything we were at least friends.” He stated calmly.

“I don’t need any more friends, thank you very much.” I stepped around him and headed back to the ball room. 

“There she is! Sophie Adeng of Sparkle Events. Thank you so much for making all of this happen.” Applause welcomed me as I entered the room. This was what this night was about. So shoving aside thoughts of Zayn, I beamed and waved. I was greeted on all sides by people congratulating me and thanking me as they left. By the time I looked up he had left. Good riddance. 

I dealt with the situation as best I could. Two years ago, I was a sheltered and directionless emotional mess and a naive twenty year old. While I wasn’t all that worldly now, I had finally built something for myself I could be proud of. I went to college. I got a job doing something I loved. What more could I want? 

“Julie, how many post-event donations did we get? This number is high.” I said the next morning poring over the final numbers. 

“Oh, I wanted to talk to you about that. One verified cheque came by courier but it was in a blank envelope with your name.” I furrowed my brow as I saw it. Plain and unassuming.

“Can I take it back to my desk? I’ll give it back in a second.” It couldn’t be. I walked back to my desk and opened the envelope. 

$100,000 in memory of Elizabeth Adeng. As if it was nothing. Heck, nowadays it probably was nothing to him. But I looked at that cheque again and again willing myself not to let the tears spill down my cheeks. I was at work after all. I wrote down the number listed at the top under his address in London and returned it without another word to Julie in accounting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've pretty much waited from when I started writing Raw Sugar to write this chapter.   
> [Tumblr] dotsandstripesxo
> 
> Thanks for reading x


	4. Chapter 4

Chris was sitting on my desk again when I arrived at work a few days later. 

“Not in the mood,” I snapped.

“I’ve noticed,” he said, getting up from the desk but not moving away. I felt a slight twinge of guilt because my sour mood had nothing to do with Chris and everything to do with my surprise guest. There was coverage of Zayn’s appearance in a couple Toronto gossip bloggers’ daily roundup, but as far as I could tell there was nothing made of it. Yet.

“Come over for takeout after work.” There. I was trying to be a bit more gracious. He nodded.

I spent the rest of the day inputting recent client data into spreadsheets. It was an intern task if there ever was one, but I was not in the mood to be thinking too long and hard about anything. 

Chris looked around my place and whistled. Even though I hadn’t decorated, it was still a pretty nice view over the rest of Toronto. “Let me call Tom for food. Tofu pad thai for you?”

“Yes, but who is Tom?”

“The driver from Bow Thai.”

“You know your takeout driver by name?”

“They’re right around the corner. “ I said defensively. Wisely, Chris moved on. 

“So what’s been bothering you?” Chris asked right after we’d ordered. I was hoping for maybe a more pleasantly spacey and clueless Chris.

“An ex-boyfriend of mine showed up at of nowhere and I guess I wasn’t ready to see him.” I took a longer than necessary sip from my coca cola.

“The boybander who dropped a hundred grand on your fundraiser?” I groaned. If Chris knew, probably everyone knew.

“Is everyone talking about it?” I asked. 

“No. I bribed Julie and then used Google. So were you a gold digger?” I aimed a kick at his shin and he laughed.

“If I was, I was an incredibly lazy one.”

“Soph, you’re not telling me anything,” said Chris.

“I got chased by paparazzi for months for dating him. I hated the attention and broke up with him. We haven’t talked in two years and he waltzes in to my event...he’s got some balls acting like we’re old friends. I don’t know what he wants.”

“Maybe he wants you to attend. Or he’s still got a thing for you despite it all. I dated a girl like that--always in love with an old flame. It is so tiresome to keep playing on again off again.”

“I’d rather set myself on fire.” I said going to answer the doorbell. 

“Cheers to that.”

With Cassidy in Vancouver and Aunt Wanda on a trek in Peru I had missed someone to really talk to, and Chris was surprisingly good about talking about feelings even if he hid it behind his fast talking brashness.

“No more engaged men, you hear? Give British Justin Timberlake a call and tell him to shove off. ” Chris offered a quick friendly peck on the cheek.


	5. Chapter 5

I texted Zayn because I was too much of a coward to call him when I knew he was probably still in Toronto. It was the perfect balance between generous, gracious and kind but firm. It is the most mature note I’ve ever written. 

From: Sophie 23:43  
Hi Zayn. It’s Sophie. Thanks so much for your donation.That means a lot to me. I think we should leave it there though. Congratulations on your engagement and best of luck with everything,

From: Zayn 23:45  
It went all wrong didn’t it?

From: Zayn 23:45  
Look, I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t know how to say sorry for everything

I frowned. 

To: Zayn 23:50  
Sorry for what?

From: Zayn 23: 55  
Too much for a text message. I’m at the Park Hyatt. Come to the hotel bar, we can have one conversation 

From: Zayn 23:59  
And after that, we can part ways. If you don’t come, we can still do the same. I am sorry though.

It was just past midnight. I had a long day upcoming at work. I was already tired enough. The Park Hyatt a half hour away by TTC. I should not spend any more money on cabs. We didn’t have anything to talk about. I sat around pretending to watch a new tv show for twenty minutes but I kept turning the conversation over and over in my mind.

I brushed my teeth, put on a fresh black blouse over my black skinny jeans and headed to the hotel. I wasn’t even compelled to go because of the promise of an apology, which held nothing for me at this point. I was going because I was curious. Which was far worse. 

Zayn was sitting at the hotel bar, having a glass of soda water with lemon in it. He looked about as tired as I felt, but he lit up when he noticed me.

“Sophie.” Were we supposed to shake hands? Hug? I settled for a quick wave at short distance and he awkwardly patted my shoulder. 

“Hey.”

He signalled a waiter and we were led to a private booth in the back, through a door I’d never noticed before.

“What’ve you been up to?” he asked.

I shrugged. Two years had blurred by in retrospect. “Kind of cleaned up my act a little and went to school. I’m an event planner. Sometimes I volunteer. What about you?” 

He nodded thoughtfully as if I had said something profound. It was easier to be detached in this setting. We were in my comfort zone and I was ready for whatever he had to say. Watching him, Zayn seemed more at ease with himself. There were of course changes I couldn’t pinpoint as well, something in his eyes maybe. He didn’t fidget as much anymore either.

“Same old. The crowds get bigger every year though. Gotten more used to touring. There’s Mel.” He smiles a little at the mention of her name.

Mel is his fiancee, Melissa Altomari. A worldwide pop sensation, she’s on rotation every goddamn summer and I would pay someone all the money I ever had in this life or the next to never hear any of her songs ever again.

“How is she? Any date set for the wedding yet?” I said, with what I was hoping was a neutral expression. I was being an adult. Sort of. 

“Mel? She’s good. Working on her new album so she’s come out to some of the tour dates. We might tour together one day which would be a dream come true. No wedding date yet, but everyone's waiting on us. Anyone for you?” He asked not unkindly.

“Well...um...his name is Chris.” I was the world’s biggest idiot. “He works with me. We were hired as interns together and we were the only two hired full time. He’s just a great guy.” If I were Pinocchio my nose would be stretching around the world to hit me in the back of the head by now. Zayn visibly started as if he wasn't expecting it, I noted with satisfaction. 

“Happy for you.”

As a desperate measure of self preservation I glanced at my iPhone, the one I’d gotten from Zayn had been long since replaced.

“Hey, don’t mean to be rude but I have work tomorrow and it’s almost two am. Is there anything you wanted to say to me in particular?”

“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m really sorry about the way I crashed your event. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I thought it would be a nice surprise but I pretty much did the equivalent of wandering onto stage while you were performing, I guess?"

“A little bit.” I conceded. 

"It was great though. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry about how this all ended up going down and that we didn’t stay friends.” Zayn’s smile is open and sincere. 

All the fight goes out of me at once. It’s harder and harder to hold on to something that really isn’t that relevant anymore. I’m not that person and clearly, he isn’t the same person I knew either. While I haven’t got anything resembling forgiveness in my heart, but I can let this go. God knows running across a continent from him with little to no explanation had to hurt too. 

“Are we supposed to be friends?” I asked. It was meant to be a little cheeky, but he grasped my hand in his warm ones.

“I think we can manage friends.” Zayn said. 

And I’m not sure if it’s because of the suddenness of his touch or his proposal that I smile. Friends. What’s a drink once a year anyway? He saw me off in a cab, waving with a cigarette dangling from his lips. I followed the glow of the orange tip until it winked out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos keep this story alive!
> 
> Thanks for reading


	6. Chapter 6

_Autoreply:_

_What is pictured is two old friends enjoying a good time together. Zayn is happily engaged and I’m dating someone. While we were once, briefly, dating I have found our friendship to be more valuable than anything. I greatly respect and admire Melissa Altomari. I wish both Zayn and Mel every happiness together._

_I will not be answering any further questions on this matter._

_With best regards,_

_Sophie Adeng_

“Why was I your first choice for fake boyfriends? Am I in a romantic comedy?” I tried to hush Chris but I’m sure that Kim at reception was smirking at me as we walked in the next morning.

“I wasn’t thinking, okay?”

“Was there no other guy you could have called?” I sighed. 

“Other than you and Tom, I’m somewhat lacking in male company lately.” Tom also had a wife and a daughter about my age at the University of Toronto studying pharmacology. I had given it fleeting thought. 

Worse than his wise cracking was that Chris was right, and besides him my social life was confined to once a week long distance calls with Cassidy in Vancouver and Aunt Wanda in Lima. 

“I’m really sorry to have dragged you into this. I will make it up to you in whichever way possible. But, please, please let’s talk about this outside of work?” Chris looked at me strangely as he was likely trying to curb two irresistible impulses: making fun of me and talking about something exciting. Chris meant well, but he was frustrating me.

“I will owe you a huge favour for this,” I promised under my breath at the morning meeting. “And I’ll take you the Timber Timbre concert in November. Just don’t tell anyone at work anything.”

Chris drew his fingers across lips and pantomimed throwing away the key. With that out of the way, I was scrolling through my work emails when Arif must’ve said my name because everyone was looking at me expectantly.

Reflexively, I said “Of course.”

“Good, talk to Julie about booking you a plane ticket to Montreal for the weekend after the meeting then.”

For what? I nodded anyway because I didn’t want anyone to catch on I wasn’t paying attention. A weekend in Montreal wouldn’t be a hardship no matter why they sent me. I could take Chris too and knock off my favour while I was at it. 

Later that afternoon my phone rang. “Sophie Adeng, speaking.”

“It’s Zayn. Your email blowing up?” He asked. 

“I’m at work right now.” He ignored that. 

“What if, as a friend, you’d do me a favour and come to Montreal?”

This is whatever the opposite of serendipity is. The world was conspiring against me.

“I’m going to Montreal this weekend, but for work. Not sure I’ll have time to hang out Z.” 

“Me, you, Mel, and your boy Caleb could hang out.” 

I frowned. I couldn't tell if he was feigning disinterest or has called me distracted. I knew where this was going anyway. 

“His name is Chris not Caleb. Do you have any original plans that don’t first come from your publicist?" Not a fair shot, but I took it. Here it was. I didn’t really want to see Zayn again so soon, but if I refused it would seem like I was being petty for no good reason. This was well within the bounds of normal friendship if I was going to be in the same city. 

"I told Mel about you and she just wanted to meet you," he said. And now, I seemed like a bitch. I sighed again. 

"But it wouldn't...hurt on the public relations angle either?"

"You never change. I'll see if Chris minds.” I hung up without saying goodbye. Still needed to cost at least seven more venues by end of week for a Women in Banking award luncheon. No time for chitchat. 

In the end, I traded flying out of Porter on business class for two economy ViaRail train tickets. I thought it was worth it, as Chris and I sat sharing headphones listening shoegazey indie pop (Canadian, of course) and looking out the window on a Friday afternoon. We left work midday so we’d get there before the Annual Canadian Corporate Event Lobby reception. No wonder no one else wanted to go, I almost fell asleep reading the title. But I loved Montreal, and I could skip the Sunday closing ceremony to do some sightseeing.

I nudged him as we pulled into Gare Centrale. 

“Thanks for coming. I know what I did was stupid, but I appreciate you ruining your Tinder game in a new city on my behalf,” I said. 

Chris frowned a little, grabbing both our carryons before I could protest. 

“I don’t actually care about that stuff. You need me and I’m here. It’s not a big deal.” 

I managed only not to fall asleep during the reception in the hotel by eating their tiny hors d’oeuvres and sipping glasses of free but vile white wine. There wasn’t a corporate planner under thirty five who wasn’t me and Chris was in our room since he didn’t actually need to be here. The presentation was extolling the “new benefits of social media”. 

It was ten o’clock and I was a little bit tipsy when I got to the room, and I must’ve made more of a racket missing the keycard slot than I thought because Chris opened the door, and scooped me up in wedding style and dropped me onto the second double bed closest to the window. 

“Have fun?” He asked.

“It was very very boring. Let’s go out dancing!” I got up and jumped onto his bed and he almost rolled off from the bounce of my full body weight.

In the end, he acquiesced and we went to Casa del Popolo which wasn’t hosting a show, but I remembered for its nachos and good music from my last visit. It was a dark little indie rock dive that was more like a hallway than a bar. Despite the fact there was no dancefloor, I was shimmying to the loudspeakers and he leaned against the bar sipping bourbon and laughing at my increasingly outrageous moves. 

After a drink or three, he joined me. It was hot and crowded, and there was no room to dance but we did it anyway pressed against each other. Blood rushed to my face and I felt lovely, warm and free. 

I could do it. Why should I have waited two years for anyone else? I leaned into Chris, put my arms around his waist, went on tiptoe and kissed him. Or rather tried to, as he firmly grabbed my hips and gently pushed me back down on my heels. 

“Not when you’re drunk please.” But he held me against him and swayed. I decided that was even better and buried my face in his shirt. He smelled of mint and rain. I couldn’t be happier. 

The rest of the night came in flashes. Stumbling out at three am and grabbing fries from a street cart because I refused to buy anything he couldn’t eat. The back of a cab. Being carried again. Chris stroking my hair in the hotel bed.

“I don’t want to go to the conference.” Was the first thing I said the next morning.

“Oh my god, I tried to kiss you.” Was the second.

“It was bound to happen at some point. Get some coffee and breakfast, and enjoy the keynote,” Chris said. He was slightly hoarse but sounded more amused than offended thank my lucky stars. 

I did so, and somehow survived the rest of the day.

x

Mel was petite, and her waist probably spanned the width of my rather small hands. She had big Texas style blonde curls, a pink dress and debutante ball smile. I don’t know if they were matching on purpose, but he was wearing a lighter pink dress shirt. Zayn has a possessive hand on her bottom. Gross. I caught his eyes skimming me and when our eyes met, he looked away as if the contact had burned him. 

Mel was sizing me up too, and I was in my standard uniform of black skinny jeans and a chambray top, just a wingtip, black statement necklace and berry purple lipstick for adornment. Chris was next to me in his best modern dandy attire: tailored black skinny slacks, an emerald green button down and a velvet damask overlay black blazer and bowtie. Chris had a casual arm over me, like any Saturday. We looked damn good. 

“Pleasure to meet y’all,” she drawled softly.

“Great to meet you Mel,” I murmured. Both the men are silent.

“I hear the steak is good,” Zayn offered to Chris. 

“Oooo, I’ll be having that medium rare,” cooed Mel. I rub Chris’ arm absentmindedly.

“I’m a vegetarian,” Chris said. That killed the conversation dead, so I pretended to be entranced by the pasta section of the menu.

Zayn tried to make conversation, bless his heart.

“Sophie tells me that you’re a wedding planner? Why a wedding planner?” 

“I just really love telling the story of two people who have decided to come together.” Chris smiled.

“You don’t find it difficult being a man and all? I don’t know that a man,” Mel put extra emphasis on the word, “would really understand what it would mean to be a little girl and dream of that big day, y’know?” Mel looked to me for support, and I barely managed not to roll my eyes.

“Not in the slightest. I’m very good at knowing people actually want,” he said. “When’s your wedding again?” Chris asked looking at Zayn. Ouch. 

“Oh look! Food.”

This must be what hell is like. 

“Want a smoke?” I asked Zayn, hoping to have a chance to talk alone. 

“He doesn’t smoke anymore, right cutie?” I may not be able to read him all that well but the vague look of panic that comes over him meant I should just go along with it. I nod. 

It became increasingly clear that Chris was offended by Mel’s entire existence, Zayn seemed to think she was made of spun sugar and happiness and it really doesn’t matter what I thought about Zayn’s mile-wide blind spot because it existed despite my every wish. 

Mel was pretty, peppy, fun and really damned simple. Her worldview was flat, entirely black and white and confined to such topics of conversation as her hometown, singing, and her family. That’s it. I felt bad because she was overwhelmingly nice and genuine, just really boring.

Chris picked at a wilted salad for most of the meal, eyeing her oozing steak. So when he finally excused himself, I followed him.

“Are you okay?’

Chris shook his head and walked faster toward the washroom, a hand clutched over his mouth and looking a little pale and clammy. I put a soothing hand on his back and when he went in, I asked a passing waiter for a glass of water. I hesitated for a moment before rushing into the washroom ready to close my eyes. We were alone thankfully and I got him to rinse out his mouth bent over the porcelain sink.

“I think I have a bit of a migraine.” I tapped him on his slightly damp forehead. 

“Let’s go home.” I made polite excuses, and walked out with Chris firmly tucked at my side. A flash went off directly in my face as we exit and I threw one hand up to make the photo unusable before we both get in a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually ended up combining two shorter chapters for this one.
> 
> Raw Sugar was nominated for Best Zayn in the 1D Rooftop Awards. If you enjoyed it, please go vote: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1lIxgRVXrI_0TFnTdhwa1gZgX8mQvnA3VgQXbrYbUjY0/viewform
> 
> Tumblr [dotsandstripesxo]
> 
> Thanks for reading x


	7. Chapter 7

Samantha called me into her office first thing on Monday morning. She gestured towards her computer, with Bonjour’s high definition snap of the disastrous dinner, which somehow managed to look cozy and affable. Good trick. 

"Is this going to affect your work?" I couldn't identify the expectant look on her face. 

"No. It's a bit of unwanted attention from people with too much time on their fucking hands."

She cracked a rare grin before going serious again.

“I have a friend who works in PR. Rose has a lot of similar clients and I think if you're going to keep popping up, you might want someone in your side.” 

She produced a business card and I stared at it, realizing that Samantha Young was definitely a hell of a lot smarter than me. 

“Thanks.” I accepted it and promised to call her by the end of the week. 

“I also wanted to talk about an opportunity with you. Arif’s looking to go into boutique corporate events with some of our clients. Do you know what that is?”

I shook my head no. An anticipative tingle ran up my spine. 

“It’s a more upscale approach. We’ve started offering a select few clients expanded services. We would take a small team, and set up events no matter what city they’re in. All of their events get to have the same Sparkle touch. I recommended you to Arif for the trial run. It’s a lot of traveling but you did so well with the Masquerade Ball.”

Samantha regarded me with something like...admiration? If you asked me, I would have said she was middling to neutral in her opinion of me.

“You’ll do brilliantly. I trust in your abilities. Just don’t lose focus. Congratulations.“

I walked out of Samantha’s loft corner in a daze. Something like pride swelled under my collarbone. They were trusting me to help set up events for some of our biggest clients. Arif treated me pretty much the same, only pausing to drop off a skeleton plan for a New York luncheon with a note we were billing and budgeting in US dollars. 

“When did you get so brave, though?” 

Wednesday was my long distance call day. Cassidy probably had me on speaker while she’s having her makeup done on a shoot in Vancouver. She was out there for the year, getting more work and expanding her portfolio past YouTube and blogging. 

“I’m not. I am so not. Also, what is a fucking Alto and why do people asking their opinions about me?” 

“That's what Mel’s fans call themselves.”   
As if on cue, we both made fake retching sounds. 

That evening, Aunt Wanda waved from a tiny dimly lit cafe on Skype. She told me a little about her trip so far, laughed at my retelling of the dinner and clapped with joy when I told her about work. She didn’t seem to mind she was disturbing the other quieter patrons at the shop. 

“Me babea, I've always known you would do very well for yourself. You are your Aunt Wanda’s pride.” She didn't need to say my mother would be proud of me. I could hear it. And I smiled. 

After interviewing a few other public relations people that week, I went to Rose, Samantha's friend. Unlike the others, she didn't pass me a shiny brochure or wax poetic about fame. She was soft spoken, brief but charming. 

“Free of charge advice. You have no web presence which makes it really easy for people to make up things about you. People are curious but you don't have anything up from the last five years--not a blog or Pinterest board.” 

I began to protest but she held up her hand to my Luddite philosophy. I had come a long way, but I still thought the world would likely be a better place if the only thing you could do was research venues and buy music. 

“Look, I can tell you're not the type. But I'd set up an Instagram account, upload a few pictures a week and have something that talks about your daily life.”

I hired her on the spot and set up an account that night, with Chris explaining hashtags and filters. There was a kind of unspoken tension since Montreal but if he had elected not to speak of it, I wouldn't. I thought he actually might be unnerved more by me wiping his brow with a cold cloth on our last evening of the trip than he was when I tried to kiss him. 

I posted my first picture that night. Just my trusty iPod classic playing Champ by Tokyo Police Club, an album I fell back on most days. The caption? “Favourite album. Favourite band. Always good for a pick-me-up.”

I went to bed with 3 followers and woke up with 3000 with a notification going off every few minutes until I muted them. Scrolling back up to the top to the first comment, was one by Zayn, “can’t believe you still have it? too much music for one person.” 

It’s what he’d said when he first saw it, almost word for word. I traced over the letters he’d written, trying so desperately to think of something witty back. Instead, I started to puzzle over why it would matter at this point anyway. Just friends. Why was I still hoping to impress him somehow? Time for a run. A nice long one.


	8. Chapter 8

Gloss and grit. That’s what all my favourite cities had--and New York was no exception. There was something that kept me enthralled--the relentless energy. If it wasn’t so expensive I likely would have moved here already.

Under a week was the fastest I’d ever pulled off any event but with a clear vision and steady grind, I had a beautiful luncheon in the Chelsea for twenty. I had to pull this one off, wrap up tonight and then go join Samantha to finish off a holiday party in Chicago. I snapped a quick picture from the penthouse suite where I was hosting and posted it. 

“Sophie, I really enjoy what you did here. Very intimate, but very classy. You folks at Sparkle really know how to throw an event.” 

I smiled graciously at the Women’s Business Association Executive Director. She had been a nightmare to work with, changing small details for seemingly no reason and then changing it again. An extra fee had kicked in for collaborative consulting and I was quite happy I’d likely take a nice size bonus home.

“It’s been my absolute pleasure. I’m happy to see your guests enjoying themselves.”

I settled into the rhythm of living out of a carryon easily. In some ways, it reminded me of my European tour with a bit more work, more sheath dresses and less heartache. After Chicago, it was Calgary for a Stampede planning session, a thank you party in Montreal and back to Toronto briefly for a fundraiser.

And in the meantime, people on Instagram wanted to know everything from my favourite songs to my hair products. I ignored every one about 1D under Rose’s advice. Zayn seemed to comment on every photo except the ones that were of me which was understandable, I guess. But we texted some days more than I did with Cassidy. 

From: Zayn 05:57  
Where are you now jetsetter?

To: Zayn 06:00  
Mexico City. Product launch for a new winery. Where are you?

From: Zayn 06:01  
Taipei. It’s wicked. 

He sent me a quick shot of a street food cart. I sent him a picture of the Teotihuacan Pyramids where the client had taken me and some of the investors on a tour.

From: Zayn 06:11  
Hate fucking timezones though

Attached one photo of Zayn looking bleary eyed, unshaven and pouty from a hotel bed. I burst out laughing. Something was disconcertingly intimate of seeing him lying there as if I’d woken up next to him. After all, all hotels start to look alike, and that could have been the starched white sheets of my Four Seasons. I shivered at that thought. 

To: Zayn 06:15  
You woke me up, no complaining.

From: Zayn 06:17  
Show me.

With an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach, I pouted mockingly at the camera. I wiped the sleep out of my eyes but left the bird’s nest of my hair. On second thought, I grabbed a single cigarette I’d bought on impulse from a street vendor and added it in.

To: Zayn 06:20  
Everything you’ve ever wanted.

Part of me was appalled for my forwardness, and the other part of me felt vindicated. After all, the incessant texts were flirtation. I knew it and he did too. Was I crossing a line here? Or had that line been crossed the second we started texting?

To: Zayn 06:20  
Beautiful x

No, that wasn’t friendly at all. 

Later that night, I fell asleep at around two am only to be roused by my ringing cellphone.

“It’s Harry.” That voice was familiar but I didn’t think I knew a Harry.

“Harry who?” I said, a split second before it registered. “Oh, fuck you, Harry Styles. How did you even get my number?”

“Knock it the fuck off Sophie. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing but he’s finally happy. Stay away from Zayn. Everyone knows you’ll pack up and run the second anything gets too difficult.”

I opened my mouth to retort but he had already hung up. Fuck.

Zayn didn’t answer any of my texts for a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking of an outtake of Zayn's POV sometime this week. 
> 
> [Tumblr] dotsandstripesxo
> 
> Thanks for reading x


	9. Chapter 9

We sat down with Melissa Altomari to find out what she’s been up to on her break, when she’s getting married to Zayn Malik and to get the dirt on her new single ‘Jezebel’.

“Is ‘Jezebel’ autobiographical?” Mel smiles coyly at me and winks.

“I wouldn’t say that, no. But we all know someone who appears to be something they are not. And there's nothing quite like realizing that not everyone is sweet. And people will take advantage of your kindness if you let them. Sometimes you have to declare war.”

“That’s quite a bold message, one that's really different, from your first album's single Floor.”

“Floor was a love song I wrote when I was fifteen. Jezebel is a song about getting a little revenge. I grew up a little.”

“How is Zayn?”

She lights up.

“He's on tour. I miss him a lot, sometimes the schedules are so different with me recording.”

“What about marriage? When are we getting the big wedding?”

Mel flicked a blonde curl over her shoulder.

“I'm still young even if I'm engaged. I love Zayn and I don't know what happens next, but you have to give it time.”

\- December 2015 cover story, Glitz magazine

“If she so much as whispers your name, we sue for defamation.” Rose said.  
I sighed.

“She doesn’t have to. I’ve gotten twelve thousand comments that say Jezebel. Do you think she knows about the racist stereotype that goes along with it?” I chewed the end of a pen to punctuate my point. I was still working on seating charts however. No rest for the wicked. 

“Not a chance. It’s under control though, don’t you worry. Just...whatever you do, stay away from him, okay?” Rose hesitated then decided to go on full speed. “It is none of my business whether you’re together or not, but I’d at least make it appear as if you’re not.”

“We’re not, Rose.”

 

“Check in under another name to hotels too.”

It was as I was on the phone that I composed hopefully my last message to Zayn who had been ignoring all my casual ‘heys’ this past week until Rose had shown me an early copy of Mel’s cover.

To: Zayn 14:00  
Keep me the fuck away from your bullshit. Hope you’re happy with yourself. 

“Soph, you can’t keep working like this,” Chris said as we grabbed lunch at an Italian place midtown. I was back in Toronto for less than three days and I was already eyeing a London album launch.

“I’m fine. Just focused.”

“Are you still upset about Zayn?” He asked gently. I ignored him and ate more bread from the basket between us.

“I hate seeing you like this.” Something undid me then.

“It’s none of your business Chris. Fucking drop it. You’re not my boyfriend. ”

Chris was even-tempered generally. Hard to rattle. I had once watched him take on a quadruple set of warring parents in law without so much as blinking. But I pushed the wrong button.

“Goddamnit Sophie. He’s not worth it. He does not give a shit about you, because if he did he’d leave her. Stop being so fucking stupid.”  
I stood up and threw a twenty on the table and left before Chris could begin to find the words to make me stay. I sobbed quietly in the washroom at work for the remainder of my lunch break, scrubbed my face and put in eye drops. Then I continued until seven pm when the cleaning lady came around and shot me and my Thai takeout box a judgemental look. I silently packed up some spreadsheets to look at from home.

“I’m sorry.” Chris must have waited all this time to follow me out the front door. I continued ignoring him, the tide of fury and sadness overcame me once again.

“What I said was out of line,” he continued. I gave a tiny snort. “I just don’t like seeing you hurting. You obviously still love him.” I forgot all pretense of pretending he wasn’t there.

“I don’t love him Chris. I got caught being stupid with an almost married man. He’s still famous. I’m still not. I still hate the media circus.”

“You’ve really gone through quite the runaround for someone whose opinion you profess not to care about. Fake boyfriend, publicist...I just don’t get it.”

“There’s nothing to get. It’s been over for two years.”

“Have you even looked at someone after him? Dated someone else? Kissed someone else? Slept with someone else?” Yes. No. Not sober. No. I didn’t answer him though.

“I could anytime I want. I just never found someone else. ”

I tilted my face up to his, expectant. I was daring him to kiss me if he wanted. I could prove him wrong. Chris was, after all, the incessant flirt. Maybe this was foreplay to him and he would come up to my place. He leaned in closer until we were mingling breaths. But instead of his signature playfulness, he was tight-lipped, eyes darting all around my face but refusing to meet my gaze.

“I like you and you've always known it. Come find me when you're ready to decide if we're friends.”

He left me in front of my apartment building with the briefest brush of fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, Burnt Sugar was nominated for Best Zayn and Sugar for Best Series at the 1Dimagination awards. If you enjoy it, please vote. 
> 
> Any guesses what's next? 
> 
> Thanks for reading x
> 
> Tumblr [dotsandstripesxo]
> 
> Tee


	10. Chapter 10

When I first met him, the blazing heat of summer had come early and the building hadn't made the switch over to the central air quickly enough, so there was a faint knocking sound and the vents belched out humid air at irregular intervals. Every old factory window in the building was thrown open with the hope of a passing breeze. 

Sweat poured off my brow as I was sorting mail. I had heard there was another intern from my boss Arif but I'd seen no sign of him in a week. Angrily I thought he might have been given something cool to do that wasn't perspiring all over himself. 

He strode up to the table and sat down, pressed khakis and white collared shirt. He’d been running his fingers through his hair and it sat damply clinging to his forehead.

“You're the other intern,” he said. 

“Sophie Adeng,” I offered a hand to shake but he grasped it. 

“Christopher Vance. Usually just Chris.” He smiled. “They are starting me off in weddings. What about you?” 

Each planning intern got a rotation between the three units: private, corporate and weddings. 

“Corporate.” I ducked my head shyly. We sorted mail in silence for fifteen more minutes until someone called his name. 

Camille, the executive assistant came into view wiping a hand across her forehead. 

“It's hot. Hope you ate on your lunch break, Chris. We've got another consultation.” She turned around assured he would follow. 

“No one told me the other intern was cute,” Chris said to me before running after Camille. 

The Sophie Adeng guide to problem solving has exactly one page with my only coping technique. So I called in all my overtime early the next morning, called Cassidy and jumped on a flight to Vancouver. I could file my financials with Julie next week and Samantha had been bugging me to take some time off. 

When Cassidy met me at the airport, I held her so tight other passengers must have thought they were witnessing a five year reunion. As always she positively reeked of Vera Wang and expensive makeup, and she was wearing leather shorts over black tights and a white crop top. A giant black sunhat was perched on her head. The seasons bow before Cassidy Anne Mendez and not the other way around. 

“I rescheduled all the shoots from this week. Want to stay in?” 

I nodded and we hopped in her car, rain pouring relentlessly on the drive from the airport to her home.

Her apartment was tiny, one of those fashionable microcondos that are supposed to save space. But instead of keeping with a minimalist theme as it required there was makeup, stilettos and clothes and plastic containers everywhere. 

“What a mess.” I giggled. Her residence room had been much the same but instead of pizza boxes now it was half eaten elaborate vegan salads and smoothies. 

“I just look like a mess babe, you are one.” A complimentary finger snap included with the disrespect.

“Are you still liking it out here?” I asked her. I kicked off a pile of clothes to sit on her living room couch.

“I don’t know. It’s really neat to be working for all these overseas brands but weird too. They’re always on my case about how ‘dark’ I am, and if I could just weigh five kilos less I would get that much more work.”

I glanced at Cassidy who could likely wear one of my pant legs as a mid length dress and we both rolled our eyes.

“I did get a few Canadian commercials and I get to be in Vancouver Fashion Week. So it’s not all bad but I think I’m going to come back to Toronto soon.”

I tried not to take this news nonchalantly but I was so excited to potentially have Cassidy back. We sat and chatted about work so more until dinnertime where we went to some salad bar Cass said would change my life.

It was a really good salad, but a salad nonetheless. 

“What about Chris? Have you spoken to him?”

“I sent him a text to tell him I was going to Vancouver for a week, but we’d talk when we’re back.”

“You like him.” It wasn’t a question.

“He’s my friend,” I responded. 

“Not answering my question.”

I put my fork down and heaved a huge sigh. I had always known I didn’t feel the way I did about Cassidy that I did about Chris in some way. But that’s to be expected when he was an incorrigible flirt. And none of this stopped him from being with other girls along the way. The kind of girls who dropped off his keys at the front desk at work or wrote their numbers on his receipts when we went out to eat or sent him little texts he laughed at all day long. This seemed to have rarely happened in the last few months although I was under no impression he had taken up an interest in being a monk. 

“I like him, but I don’t know about us.”

“But you’re not over Zayn.” Another non-question. Heavens help us all that Cassidy did not decide to become a police interrogator. 

“Yes. Maybe. It's hard because I can always see why I loved him even now. But nothing has changed. If anything it has gotten worse.” 

“If he wasn't engaged would you be with him?” 

“Nope,” I said a little too fast. I hadn't thought about it because I wasn't accustomed to thinking in hypotheticals. What if Zayn had been a guy who worked in my tea shop instead of famous? What if I'd been a pop star and he came to Toronto to start over? 

Cassidy pointedly did not tell me what to do next. She dropped the topic for the rest of the week even when I tried to bring it up. We ate the best sushi I had ever had. We ran along the Seawall in Stanley Park every day. We took a ton of photos. On the last night I let her bring me clubbing with her model friends and I danced up a storm. We stumbled out of the club together happy and a flash went off.

“I’ll give you something to fuckin’ write about my beautiful friend you parasite.” Cassidy drunkenly flipped off a paparazzo and kissed my cheek while doing it. The headline with that picture the next morning read “Zayn’s ex is happier as a lezzie” and Cassidy bought a copy of the Enquiry and framed the page. 

By the time I boarded the plane to Toronto, I knew what I was going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All written listening to Troye Sivan's Blue Neighbourhood singles.  
> Your reviews make me smile. What's next?  
> [Tumblr] dotsandstripesxo


	11. Chapter 11

My breath caught in my throat stepping into Chris’ apartment. We rarely hung out in his apartment as mine was closest to work and he had two roommates who he regularly complained about. No sign of either of them as I took off my shoes.

“Good week in Vancouver?” He asked.  
“Pretty decent,” I said. Then on impulse I added, “but it was missing something.”

He glanced at me warily sitting on his bed. “Was it?”

“You.” It was barely louder than a whisper but Chris had been watching for the answer.

“I’m terrible at relationships,” he said. Didn’t I know it.

“I want to stay friends no matter what,” I said.

We met halfway between his bed and the door and kissed. There were no dates left for him and I, no pretense. I was running so hot, I'd swear I had a fever and the only thing that broke it was his lips on mine.

I broke off our kiss and shut his bedroom door.  
“Anyone home?” I asked, deceptively calm.

“No.” Now his eyes met mine and his pupils were almost fully blown out, black overtaking the dark brown.

“Good. I want you.”

Pleased to report despite two years of self imposed abstinence everything was in excellent working order. I insisted on a second time to make absolutely sure.

The next morning: an inventory. Mood, blissful and energized Breath, absolutely rank. Hair would probably attract a mating pigeon. Black jeans were manageable for work, grungy T-shirt worn for five hours on a flight was not.  
After almost making us both late for work, I put on one of his looser collared shirts and we walked side by side to work.

I had been compiling my final billing when Samantha walked in and perched on the edge of my desk.

“You don't have to take the London job.”

“The album launch party?”

She nodded.

“Why wouldn't I? It's the first event I've ever had with no spending cap.”

“You need to read the background document. If you want to be taken off the job, tell me today.”

I flipped through the background document focusing on the details. They wanted a classy album launch for a brand new girl group's debut album. They had also been on X-Factor. They were also on Columbia Records. Special guest would be One Direction.

Fuckety fuck fuck.

“Do you think I should go?” I asked Chris over lunch.

“It would be good for your career.” He shrugged.  
I told Rose that evening during her weekly checkin and her response was to roll her wheelchair forward and bump into my leg hard.

On her instructions, the night of the party was wearing a black shift dress that went down to my knees with black flats and a black blazer over top. My hair was pulled back severely and I was donning a nametag which I hated. It was very clear I was working and so far the only people who had paid me any mind were the venue and company staff.

Columbia, in the end, ran the show. There was a champagne fountain, ice sculptors and sushi served on the bodies of hired models. Their audition yesterday involved them stripping down and a record executive saying ‘I think not’ and ‘you’ll do’ with me sitting in the room texting Cassidy and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I had ordered more bottles of liquor than I thought was reasonable.

The emcee and DJ checked in with me before starting their set to a half full room. The entirely lovely girls of the band had said hi and went off to rehearse and I was weaving in and out of strangers with my clipboard and headset, checking everything was going well.

A cheer went up and I knew my relief was short lived as the crowd surged forward to greet our special guests. I went into the green room and told the venue staff to fetch me if anything was amiss. I was alone with white couches, thumping bass and a book I’d grabbed in the airport.  
“You.” I looked immediately to the door and there was Zayn by the entrance.

“Oh, just leave me alone.” I pretended to be looking at my book but it might has well been in a foreign language.

“It’s always about you, isn’t it? You haven’t even given me a chance ever to explain myself...” I realized he was swaying a bit, possibly tipsy. Liquid courage wouldn’t fail him now.

“I don’t want your explanations. I’m so very sorry you got caught cheating on your girlfriend. Let me be clear it will never happen with me again.” There was the simmering anger and resentment with every step he took closer to me. 

“As if you weren’t cheating too.”

I was incensed by his glibness as if I should be to blame as well. As if I had gotten down on one knee at Mel’s grandma’s annual garden party and given her an engagement ring. As if he and I were the same kind of person.

“Chris is a far better person than that....thing you call a fiance,” I spat.

“At least I know who she really is. You seem to change every time I turn around. Two years makes a hell of a difference,” he retorted.

“You’re right. You don’t know anything about me, Zayn. So fuck you for trying to make me out to be that bad guy here.”

“Soph, I was really trying with you. But honestly, I should have known you weren’t worth the effort.”  
And with that parting shot, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a bit of a rush.
> 
> I won runner-up in Best Series for the 1DImagination awards. Putting up the banner when I receive it.
> 
> Thank you to all my readers, even the silent ones x
> 
> [Tumblr] dotsandstripesxo


	12. Chapter 12

“Ms. Adeng, the DJ just blew out the speakers by the stage,” a venue staff member spoke through my headset. 

It was definitely quieter than it had been. I glanced at the clipboard. We hadn't even made it to Little Mix’s performance. I shook my head and strode out, calling everyone with a headset to me. No sign of Zayn, thank Heavens.

“Move a couch from the back on stage. Push the speakers off to the side. You, find Curtis. Get the light tech to prepare for a red wash background. No strobing. ” 

I went directly for backstage meeting the girls in the middle of them huddling. 

“Girls. We’ve got a change of plans.” 

Thirty minutes later, they all sat on a couch and played a stripped down acoustic rendition of their singles to a hushed crowd. They were harmonizing as if they had planned to do this all along. 

“You made it work.” The Columbia executive I'd spent the least time with sidled up to me as the performance ended and brand new speakers from equipment rentals rolled onto the dancefloor. I thought her name might be Barb. We passed Liam and Niall, who nodded but didn’t say hi. 

“I try,” I said. 

Looking out into the sea of faces, some artists, friends and industry folks, I saw the second last person I wanted to see coming my way. I made it all the way to the door of the green room before Harry caught me. 

“I didn't come here to make trouble okay?” I said. My voice broke on the last word, and Harry stepped in closer, alarmed. He must have thought I was going to cry but I was so angry I was having trouble not walking out in the middle of the job. 

“Just wanted to say that I really appreciate you doing that for them. They’re good friends.”

“I appreciate the compliment. Now if you’ll excuse me?” 

“Are you alright?” Harry Styles was concerned about me. I snorted. 

“Never been better.” 

I heard the opening strains of Jezebel. “Really warms my heart that at least once a day I’m reminded that I made the worst mistake of my life and can’t live it down.” 

He doesn’t say anything for my monologue, only paused with a finger tapping his upper lip. 

“You know, Zayn still--I’ve never seen him the way he is about you about anyone. Not even her. Think about that.” 

By the time I realized he was speaking in present tense, Harry had already left.

x

What was I up to last night?  
a threesome with Zayn and Harry  
begging Little Mix to join so I could be closer to Zayn  
chasing after Zayn in a skimpy dress  
getting drunk and threatening to fight Melissa Altomari  
cocaine with rappers

Congratulations! If you believe any of the above you could write for a gossip magazine. According to Samantha, my notoriety had come with a boost in new customers so Arif wasn’t too fussed while Rose served out cease and desist letters so articles were riddled with the word ‘allegedly’. 

As soon as I had collected my final receipts and had the DJ agree to replace the speakers in writing, I left London Saturday night. Aunt Wanda was still in Peru and Vidya who I still spoke to on occasion was doing her finals. 

In what was becoming a habit from Pearson airport, I ended up at Chris’ front door. He kissed me leisurely in the front door and I forgot I was on a busy residential street. 

“I’ve got so much to tell you, ” I said, sitting on his bed. 

He took his shirt off and sweatpants were riding indecently low on his hips. My mouth went dry. 

“Can it wait?” Chris asked. 

“It most certainly can.”

It was as I went home a few hours later that I realized we hadn’t discussed anything at all. I shrugged it off and collapsed onto my own bed before emailing Aunt Wanda to see if she was awake. She listened with absolute attention though it might have been because the connection wasn’t great. 

“Let that boy come around again and I will show him fire. I keep telling him that he’s got some figuring out his life to do.” Aunt Wanda was on a roll.

“When did you tell him that?”

“He started coming around when you left for Germany and I got his number.” She recited the phone number I had in my phone before continuing, “ I send him texts every once in a while. Not about you.”

My Aunt Wanda sent Zayn Malik text messages. Not about me. They texted each other. 

“Honestly,” she continued oblivious to my mouth which was hanging opening, “he needs some guidance in his life. He has no idea what he wants. But anyway, I’ll see you at Christmas. Love you darling.” 

She hung up on me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer screen just broke so I updated by connecting my laptop to my television. That's love. But I couldn't leave off without a chapter.
> 
> What's Chris' deal? What do you think the text messages from Aunt Wanda say?
> 
> [Tumblr] dotsandstripesxo
> 
> This week, watch out for part one of my Holiday miniseries. Ghost!Harry and all that goodness. 
> 
> Love,
> 
> Tee


	13. Chapter 13

“Are you angry with Santa? You have nothing up,” Aunt Wanda said. 

She was dressed in desert coloured cargo pants and a black t-shirt with a flowing purple and silver wrap over top. The last few months looked good on her, a sunkissed glow and looseness in the limbs. She looked happier. She told me in halting words on the ride to my house about a male Peruvian artist who was teaching her about working with leather and wanted to visit London. 

“We can decorate, I guess.” I shrugged. Little did I know, that by decorating, she meant acquiring a live tree to scatter pine needles on my floor and fairy lights and tinsel. She also hung up all my photos I hadn’t gotten around to and put up my floating shelves for vinyl before the night was up. We chatted though she ignored any attempts to subtly probe for information. 

“I can’t wait for you to meet Chris.” Every other holiday since living with her I had spent with her outside of Toronto so she had never met him either as my friend or...whatever he was now. I tried not to think too hard about it in the quiet moments where I wondered what this had meant. 

I picked Injera, a fairly lowkey Ethiopian restaurant near Ossington who made up in tastiness for whatever they lacked in decor. Chris was waiting for us, dressed neatly in a burgundy sweater and pressed grey slacks. 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Aunt Wanda.”

“What are your intentions with my daughter?” Aunt Wanda asked.

“Auntie!” I yelped.

“Oh you shut up. I was speaking to Chris.” She turned to him with the biggest smile plastered to her face, but as he was unfamiliar with her facial expressions, he took it as sincere. Honestly, it was bit more akin to a lioness showing her teeth. 

“We are just seeing how it goes. But Sophie is a wonderful person, and no matter what, we’re really friends.” Chris offered his own small smile and Aunt Wanda was unreadable. It was as good as an answer as he could have given on short notice. Also I was relieved he hadn’t tried for a definition of our relationship. I satisfied my doro wat craving and we chatted about the weather, the upcoming World Cup and work stories. 

“I’ll see you for Christmas eve dinner, Sophie.” Angie and Patrick, his parents, had me over every year.

Te holiday flew by with lots of laughter, and warmth. When I went to go drop Aunt Wanda off at the airport before the New Year, she held me tight. 

“I love you. Take care. I'll be home in London by February and you should stop by and visit your Auntie. You still have your keys, little FeeFee?” 

I nodded. 

“Good. Your Chris is kind. If he makes you happy, that makes me happy.” She tapped the end of my nose in a fond gesture. 

“And I'd like to meet your artist if he comes back with you to London.” She smiled bright and genuine.

Later that night as I caught up with work, Cassidy texted me. 

From:Cassidy 8:15  
I think you’ll want to see this

I clicked on the link and One Direction sat across from an interviewer before some sort of Santa Bash. I was not ready for whatever this was going to be. We had a general no One Direction rule and that included something I installed my computer to make the word ‘pancakes’ show up for every mention of my ex-boyfriend’s band. I sipped my jasmine tea and proceeded. 

Interviewer: Have you all heard Mel’s single? Seems to be a banger right now, knocked your song right off the top of the chart.   
Harry: Jezebel is kind of mean-spirited song. Not my thing. I think there are far better songs I’ve heard from Mel.   
Interviewer: You also take up songwriting duties for One Direction. Wouldn’t you say you sometimes write about people in a way they may not like or agree with?  
Harry: It’s a struggle as a songwriter to be true to yourself, but not every feeling should be immortalized as a song. Especially the petty ones. 

To:Cassidy 8:20  
Did Harry Styles just.....

From: Cassidy 8:21  
He might as well have offered to fight her.

To: Cassidy 8:22  
He just did! HE CALLED HER PETTY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter End Notes:  
> Sorry for the delay folks! I ended up having more not less time over the holiday.
> 
> If you want to see what I was writing, go read The Ghost of Christmas Past on 1DFF.   
> [Tumblr] dotsandstripesxo
> 
> Love,
> 
> Tee


	14. Chapter 14

“Sophie, can I see you in my office?” Arif was standing by me after the first morning meeting back from the holidays and I was so shocked I sloshed water from my cup on the floor and slipped on it.

“Of course. I’ll be right there.”  
I swallowed hard. I waited for a few long moments then strode into Arif’s office. I had seen the inside of it twice. Once when I was interviewed as an intern and then again when I was hired as full time staff. He sat right in the centre of the hall but strategic panels of frosted glass gave us some privacy.

“Please have a seat.”

I did.

“Sophie, you’ve really put in some great work in the last little while. Melissa has sung your praises about how you handle international events very well.”

I nodded. “Thank you,” I said.

“I would like you to make sure you have more time to yourself. It’s near the end of the year and I’ve noticed you’ve only used one week of your vacation this year. It does rollover into next year and I’d have no problem with you taking some time on either side of your trips.” His kindly smile set me at ease and I started to relax a little.

“I will keep that in mind. Any events in Bali soon?” We both laughed.  
“I also want to let you know that we have a no fraternization policy between coworkers in the same division. This also applies to those between management or management track staff. Exceptions are only made for relationships that existed prior to working here. You are, of course, aware of this.” He spoke carefully.

“Yes.” It did not apply to me though.

“If, for example, I had two brilliant staff members with potential offers to become management track, I could not proceed with either until it became clear that they were not involved. Do you understand?”

My mind went blank. I stared for too long before managing a nod and a vague affirmative.

“Thanks for stopping by.” Arif dismissed me with a smile.

I went straight to Chris’ desk on the other side of the floor, but he was busy and promised to meet up with me after work. I could not concentrate for the life of me all day.

How did Arif know? Did he mean it? Was he telling me to be discreet or to end things? What should we do? How would Chris feel?

Chris and I walked silently to his apartment and I sat down on his bed before telling him about my meeting. He sat at his rarely used desk, something he’d pulled off the curb. 

“I know. He met with me when you were away in London.” He was uncharacteristically silent.

“Why hadn't you said anything for two weeks?”  
“I wanted to let him tell you before I decided anything.”

“Don't you mean before we decided anything?” He shrugged.

“This is not fair,” I murmured. I got up to kiss him once and tried again and he turned his face aside.

“Is it a big deal to be friends again? Isn't that how we started out?” His voice was gentle but uneven. I felt like I had been slapped.

“We just started dating. We were supposed to be giving this a real shot.” I was mostly frustrated in this moment. Frustrated that Chris seemed to have made up his mind without me.

“I just don't understand the difference between what he's asking us and what we need to do. Help me understand.” I peppered his face with tiny kisses, but when he slipped a hand underneath my shirt at the waist, I shivered.

“I was looking forward to date nights and holding hands at Kensington Market on pedestrian Sundays. I don’t want things to change when feel like I just started to...”

“He's not saying we can't be friends. We did that last year.” I had thought he was holding my hand last year as a joke.

“Do you want to be just friends?”

“I don't know. I just don't. We had a good thing going between us don't we?” And that little tortured half smile he gave me made my heart hurt even worse. Chris must have been turning this round and round in his head for weeks while I had no idea.

“What was this?” I leaned forward and touched my forehead to his, searching his warm brown eyes before snapping my eyes shut. His next sentence came slightly pained after a stark silence.

“Soph, I'm still not your boyfriend. You won't even sleep over at my house.” Chris sounded worse than I felt.

“I would if you wanted me to. You said you never liked it when girls overstayed their welcome.” He heaved a huge sigh and moved to sit on his bed, detangling himself entirely from me.

“Do you love me? Not now, but do you ever think you could love me?”

“What?” My outburst is much louder than I expect but Chris doesn’t flinch at all.

“Tell me.”

“I like you. I like spending time with you.” I stuttered.

“You don't love me. We’re friends.The sex is good, that's all.” Chris offered a wry smile. He looked a little sad as he said it, and I ran my fingers down the side of his face and he caught them.

“Am I going to lose you now? Is that it?”

If I had said I loved him, he would have made it work even if he had to find another firm to work at. And I could have made myself say it, but I thought he deserved better than that. Better than any of this really. Because despite the front he put up for the world as someone who preferred casual affairs over romance, the past two months proved to me that he wanted someone who would love him. And I was not that person.

“We promised to stay friends,” he reminded me.  
“I’m not feeling too friendly right now,” I said.

I was never sure about anything between us. About the blurring line between friendship and relationship and co-worker. About whether I was scratching an itch. About whether I wanted to be with him or I thought I wanted to.

When there was nothing left to say, we ended up back in bed. Chris whispered a steady stream of endearments into my ear. I whispered back that he was my best friend no matter what and he deserved the world. This was goodbye but afterwards I stayed and wrapped my arms around him.

“God, you're so beautiful.” He mumbled before falling asleep. I stayed awake watching him as tears slipped down my cheeks silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was one of the most difficult but my favourite to write. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always.
> 
> Tumblr [dotsandstripesxo]
> 
> xo
> 
> Tee


	15. Chapter 15

Chris said he needed space for a couple weeks. When the opportunity came up to go to New York the next morning, I did not take it. I told myself I was learning to cope. At twenty-two years old, I could not run away anymore. 

Instead, I sat at my desk for the entire week. The first tip off that I was doing practically no work was that I was on my laptop when I usually kept a pad of paper and printing so I could do work by hand.

The second was that anytime anyone moved in the vague direction of the wedding division, I would immediately look for Chris. Friendship was supposed to be the easier option, less fraught with feelings. But here I was, a jumbled mess of guilt and relief every time our eyes met. Guilt, because this was my fault. But relief because I knew he was right and that made it worse. 

I collapsed in my apartment after the first full week of being without Chris. I ate Bow Thai takeout and Tom who joked that he thought I had finally learned to cook. I shoveled it dispassionately into my mouth while watching a docuseries about serial killers. I went to bed in a holey t-shirt at ten p.m.

At about one a.m, I got a call and my iPhone flashed “Famous Prick #2”. It had once bore the name Harry Styles, but I had remembered what had happened with my cellphone two years ago and thought this was a safe bet. I watched it ring the first time and go to voicemail but the second time I picked it up. 

“Hello?”

There is shouting in the background and I can just make out Zayn’s voice. 

“How have we gotten to the fucking point that she won't pick up my calls but she’ll pick up yours, wanker that you are?” His words are slurring, his accent is thick and he sounded about as angry as I had ever heard him. 

“Zayn, mate, give us back the phone.” That was Liam sounding as if he was soothing an angry zoo animal. 

“Who the fuck let him get a phone?” Harry was ranting in the background, his voice flat and almost toneless but loud. Louis could be heard trying to calm them both. 

“Hello?” No one was actually talking to me though. 

“It's my birthday. I can do whatever I bloody well want.” Zayn shouted back. Niall was saying please over and over in a litany that was clearly being ignored. There was scuffling but Zayn was clearly holding his own because his voice remained the loudest. 

“D’you know I used to love you so much before bed I'd rehearse how I was going to introduce you to my Ma and Da. I’m sorry I’m a mess. I’m sorry I can’t--I’m sorry I don’t know what to do.” I could tell he was choking back sobs, his voice touching something very raw and painful. It was his birthday, why wasn’t he happy? Why wasn’t I? 

I forced myself to breath evenly before responding. 

“You said I wasn't worth it, remember? Pretty sure I'm still not. Call me when you’re sober.” I sounded almost unaffected, bored to my own ears. 

“Honest to God, I will hit you if you don’t get off my phone.” Harry cut in. 

“I was fucking wrong. Tell your boyfriend I said it.” Then there was a loud crash--it seemed someone had succeeded in getting the phone away. The line went dead. When I called back, it did not ring once before going to voicemail. 

The sad fugue of the week had snapped. After a few minutes of deep breathing hadn’t calmed me, I laced up my running shoes, and took out my rarely used caution vest. Running at night was usually too many people. 

I listened to the saccharine indie pop that made my teeth hurt. The kind of thing Chris hated when I played because it was slick, overproduced and too clever by half. Maximum volume, a quick pace and pounding pavement rattled thoughts until they were loose. Not full sentences, just fragments: mess, Zayn, tired, so tired, Zayn, not okay.

I stopped when I was slicked in sweat. 

I remembered an afternoon sitting at a restaurant two years ago with Zayn. It was avant garde, which mostly meant portions were small, and there was paper and crayons at every table.

Zayn had been so delighted. He drew little cartoons of everyone around us, giggling all the while. Then while we chatted over dinner, he idly wrote something and traced it over and over again.

“What’d you write?” I asked. 

“Nothing,” he said, covering it with his hands and moving his bowl on top.

“What did you write?” I asked again, moving the bowl. He was too fast and immediately covered everything with his hands.

I left it alone and pretended I lost interest when food came. As we left, I peeked under and found beautiful calligraphy. 

“Sophie Malik, eh?” I teased. 

“Just wanted to see how it’d look.” He shrugged as if this was a perfectly ordinary activity suitable to a twenty year old male and not a thirteen year old with a crush.

“Why not Zayn Adeng? I’m the last Adeng overseas you know.” We had laughed. I had forgotten that moment for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters have been outlined for more than a year and they still crush me a little. If you want the vibe, blast Jamie XX's In Colour on full volume and skip the first track.
> 
> We're so close to the end.
> 
> Thanks for reading, lovelies. 
> 
> [Tumblr] dotsandstripesxo
> 
> Tee


	16. Chapter 16

I took time off running because my knee had begun to twinge. I finally went to the art gallery and a movie I’d meant to catch, by myself. I had two awkward coffees with Chris and went to Chicago and Denver.

_I apologize without reservations for my behaviour. Not making any excuses for myself anymore. Talk soon - Zayn_

It was a note on my front door three days after his birthday. Not accompanied by flowers or a basket or even another cheque for which I was profoundly grateful. I sighed and stuck it to my fridge. But there was nothing else in the days that stretched into weeks.

I had been worried. Very. Not enough to call, but enough to convince Rose to send me articles about Zayn. There was a nasty story brewing underneath the headlines.

_Zayn to Mel: “There Will Never Be A Wedding”. See exclusive footage of the fight between Harry & Zayn. Zayn Malik’s Birthday Party Disaster. Zayn’s Taking Time Off: Mental Illness or Drug Addiction? Find out what experts are saying. Angry South American Fans Demand Refunds as Zayn Misses 3 Shows. Single, Wild and Into Blondes: 1D’s Zayn Malik on the Rebound. Mel Vacations Alone in Ibiza._

I pored over these in my spare moments, as if I could glean some sort of coherent story from them.

“Hey space cadet, I said what do you think of the last apartment we went to?” Cassidy snapped her fingers in front of my face. The steps were unsteady and creaked ominously when I held onto the bannister.

“It looks like the inside of that shitty bar on College with toonie mini pitcher night,” I said climbing down the remaining steps of an old Victorian home that smelled like mildew and incense.

“It has charm!” She protested.

“It would make a charming house fire,” I retorted. She smacked me on the shoulder hard and smiled sweetly at all the passersby who stared at our display.

We made an odd pair in downtown on a Saturday late in January. I was bundled up in scarves and cable knit sweaters and fleece lined tights. She was wearing designer thigh highs and a faux fur coat. I looked like a Gap commercial and Cassidy looked like she had walked off one of her shoots.

“I’m going to have to live at home. It’ll be like university but worse.” Cassidy sighed.

“I thought you missed your mom.” I said.

“Don’t miss my dad though,” she said quietly. He did not really approve of her.

“Still on your case?” I asked.

“Cassidy, when we came here from the Philippines it was to give you a better life. Not so you can drop out of university and go to parties in your underwear. Look at your brother Mark.” Her mimicry of her Dad’s accent ended with a snorting laugh, but I put my hand over hers anyway.  
We drove back into my house in silence after viewing a number of houses with poor lighting, low ceilings and reeking of air freshener with a hint of marijuana.

“Hey, did you get a doctor yet?” Cassidy asked as we pulled into my parking garage. “I asked and Dr. Chu said you never came in for an appointment.”

“I go to the walk in clinic if I’m not feeling well.”

“Are you still....? Sophie, you haven’t had a check up in like five years.”

I shrugged. The most I could bring myself to do for my well being is run and visit the dentist. Part of me was worried about finding out there really was something wrong, but part of me had to believe that doctors weren’t magic and if my mom, a health professional, didn’t catch her illness early enough then there was no point. Not for me, anyway.

“Dr. Chu is really...understanding. If you change your mind, I’ll give her a call.” Cassidy’s voice went very soft and it made me uncomfortable. She was usually blunt, and this soothing voice was not her style.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Cassidy ran straight for my bed without kicking off her shoes. She laid down on the fluffy with plaid covered duvet with her boots hanging over the end. I joined her too, hanging my oxfords off the end and tucking my head beneath her arm. I snapped a quick picture of our feet. She was warm and her heartbeat reminded me of doing the same in university. I was grateful. I didn’t have a lot of friends but Cassidy was the best of them.

“Come live with me in March,” I asked quietly.

“Maybe.”


	17. Chapter 17

There was lull at Sparkle corporate division that came once a year around February. Usually after the holiday parties and winter levees there was time to have more meetings, catch up on paperwork and scout for new clients. It was also the preferred time for vacation with none of the madness of summer festivals and patio parties.

I hated it. There was nothing to do. Even Samantha had gone to Cuba with her wife.

I had refiled all my documentation twice, researched all clients I had, organized them in a spreadsheet, made a pie graph and researched our competition. On my computer. By the end of the first week it was colour coded.

I had also made all kinds of proposals through Arif’s executive assistant Camille. Rotating structures for our boutique tour team. More services we might want to offer. How it might look if we became our own subdivision of corporate. The most promising interns whose resumes had already come in, ranked from one to five.

Finally Arif snapped at the end of the next Wednesday.

“You’ve got a week off. Go to Montreal or the Caribbean or Pakistan or something. i’m serious. Don’t care where, just don’t come to work.”

“....thanks?” I said.

“Corporate planners without something to do are the worse than the devil,” Arif said to Camille.

“We are.” I winked. “I’ll leave, I’ll leave.”  
On my way out, Chris caught me with a gentle tap on the shoulder.

“Are you going to go?” He asked. His smile was tentative but genuine.

“On vacation? Might as well. I think I was going a little stir crazy and I really don’t have to be around for at least a week. Aunt Wanda is back from Peru. I mean, for the meantime, she might decide to go back for another project,” I babbled nervously.

“London should be fun. When you come back want to hang out?” He tried to sound casual.

I’d heard from a girl in Private Events he had been spotted with an investment banker at the Drake Hotel. On a real date, Sally had whispered conspiratorially. And surprisingly, that made me happy.

“Of course,” I beamed. I turned away and just reached the door when Chris called my name again.

“And Sophie? Tell him he’s a really lucky guy for me.” Chris winked at my confusion.

x

I wanted to surprise Aunt Wanda, so I called up the only friend I still had in London. Vidya Singh and I exchanged a few emails and video chatted once or twice a year. She had worked with me at TeaWorld and even though we were terrible at keeping up, it never seemed that way. She was late, as per usual and I sat in Gatwick playing Tetris on my phone.

“Sophie! Look at you. You’ve gotten fancy,” Vidya scooped me into a huge hug.

“And you haven’t changed a bit Vidz. Except for the mermaid hair!” I picked up an aquamarine strand of hair.

“Do you like?” She preened. 

“I fucking love. You look gorgeous.”

We hopped in a rental. She chattered along happily on our ride to Kensington telling me about her work in production at the BBC. Vidya was still with her girlfriend Jess who was now a sous chef at her restaurant. Vidya was planning to take her on holiday to Spain and propose next year. She seemed light hearted and happy. Something about that made me envy the cozy life she had even if it was all opposite schedules, 3 am dates and a ‘extremely daft’ stray cat Jess brought home.

“So good to see you. Come for dinner. Jess has Wednesdays off and she’s missed you too.”

I knocked on Aunt Wanda’s front door. Even from the other side of the door, I could catch whiffs of smoke, jasmine tea and cooked rice. It smelled like home. But no one answered the door, and I fished out keys to let myself in.

Aunt Wanda was singing to herself upstairs with music blasting. She couldn’t hear me coming up the steps until I’m in her room behind her while she’s typing in bed wearing a giant horrible purple poncho. It was a terrible half crocheted half knotted mess of royal purple and lavender.

“Eh! Look who is here!” She enclosed me in a warm hug that is everything that feels like family even though the wool of her poncho is slightly itchy.

“Auntie!” I laughed, and for some reason the tears followed right behind.


	18. Chapter 18

Aunt Wanda and I spent a day as we had two years ago. My knee hurt a little less being idle so we stayed in the house. Her artist friend was in Dublin, so I wouldn’t get to meet him yet. His name is Alex. She told me about the other artists in their collective and how their next trip will be to Italy. I told her what I remember, how even the worst photos are gorgeous with the Amalfi Coast in the background.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy to see you here. But why did you come to London?” My aunt asked gently.

“I thought I would surprise you.” I said. She raised one eyebrow. I had avoided London for a good year after my breakup but it seemed silly and inconsequential now.

“I’ve asked you to visit me every time we spoke. You’ve come to London twice during Christmas in two years. Each time, you bring a carry on and leave in three days.”

I shrugged.  
Before going up to my room for bed on the first night, I checked my phone.

From: Zayn 22:11  
I hear that you’re in London.

From: Zayn 22:12  
Any chance you’d let me talk to you?

I left his text unanswered. I had questions that need answers first.

“Auntie, what did Zayn and you text about?” I had tried peeking at her phone but she never seemed to leave it alone anymore. Her background was her and Alex. He looked friendly and Aunt Wanda was sitting on his lap laughing while he was taking the picture. It made me feel funny to look at it, as if I had interrupted them somehow. I felt a pang of something like sadness but not quite.

“Ask him yourself.” I had an idea who let Zayn know that I was in London. Aunt Wanda was on the couch watching some awful reality television about couples who buy fixer uppers but are not at all handy. I sat down and pretended to watch for a few moments before gathering enough courage for my next question.

“Is he alright?” Aunt Wanda waved me off.

“Again, ask him yourself,” she responded. I went silent for another episode with an equally terrible but different couple who’ve bought a house in Sheffield.  
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” My voice creaked over the commercials.

“I think you ought to hear him out. For yourself.”

To: Zayn 23:42  
What about some time tomorrow night? I’ll let you choose the spot.  
I told Rose. It seems the only person that I had surprised was myself. She emailed me a list of things to keep in mind and to wear. She stopped short of personal advice but I read it in her worrying voice nonetheless. I armed myself with red lipstick and an impeccable wingtip. I decided I could spare the expense of a London cab and picked up black snakeskin pumps. An Advil would let me hobble to the back of the bar. The dress was fifties style knee length wiggle dress. My palms were sweating, slipping on the car door and my dress. My heart was pounding out a dizzying rhythm but I steeled myself.

The cab stopped at The Royal Arms--a pub that appeared to be closed. I knocked on the door to be sure and Zayn answered. I don’t know what I was expecting but he looked well. The Royal Arms was a working class kind of pub with plain unassuming counters and worn velvet booths. There was vague stickiness to the floors and the scent of stale beer hanging in the air.

“You came.” He smiled at me. It was just a tentative flash, not meant to dazzle. We walked into the back of the bar away from windows and doors. It was dim with only emergency lights on. We sat in a booth with a couple lit three wick candles between us.

“Yeah. I did.”

“I guess, I’ve done this twice now. “ He laughed but it sounded hollow. “ I’m sorry, Sophie. I haven’t been myself. I haven’t been myself in a long time.”

“What happened? What’s going on with you Zayn?” I tried to frame it as neutrally as possible but something in my expression must have indicated concern.

“I’m alright,” Zayn was failing to be reassuring.

“No. No, you’re not. The last two times we’ve met you’ve been drunk and shouting nonsense at me.”

Zayn paused. He had been holding his posture erect but he collapsed in on himself, ducking his head to look at his shoes. His voice was slightly muffled and shaky.

“Imagine if you felt like you couldn’t do anything right. Like you had stopped making choices and instead were stumbling from one place to another. Everything’s moving like a carousel. It’s this round and round blur of parties and friends. And everyone’s having fun but not you. You stopped having fun but you can’t get off the ride. You feel worse and worse but you don’t think you’re even allowed to feel that way. ”

I did not realize I was holding my breath until he exhaled deeply.

“That’s me. Obviously, it’s not an excuse.” he added.

“Zayn, you’ve got a wonderful music career and you love singing and your fans. So I don’t really get it.” My words wounded him visibly but aside from a small controlled flinch, he didn’t react. Instead, he smoothed his hand over his hair--now cut shorter with bits of silver. I averted my eyes from the one collarbone peeking out of the crooked neckline of his shirt. Instead my eye caught a brown leather cord bracelet around his left wrist. I recognized it right away. It’s the same one I gave it to him for his twentieth birthday. The sight of it melted the steel in my spine just a little bit more.  
“The music I’m fine with. It’s the other bullshit. It’s never having a normal schedule. Never seeing my family. Trying to make everyone else happy. Not being allowed to have an off-day.”

“What have you been doing this past month?”

“I’ve been...trying to fix things. I went to LA to break it off with Mel. I went home to Bradford. I saw a counsellor thanks to your aunt. I shut off my phone which pissed Harry right off. Now I’m trying to make amends. Talking about this stuff doesn’t come naturally to me.” Zayn attempted another smile, but it doesn’t quite work.  
“And the stuff I’ve been reading about?” He gave a more genuine laugh.

“One supposed fling was a girl who had the misfortune of smiling when she served me coffee at the airport. Another was a family friend. The mysterious cougar is my counsellor. I’ve never even met the last model I’m supposedly now dating. I probably smoke more weed than I should, but cocaine is out of my league.”

“I knew that.” And I did, I realized. Nothing rang true the way his words had.

“You always knew me, Soph.” My left hand, which had been fidgeting on my side of the table reached over to his. I noted the slight tremor in his voice and squeezed his hand briefly.   
“I never said I was sorry. I shouldn’t have ran away like that. Back then I mean. I am sorry. Running from your problems is easier than facing them,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

“Agreed.” Our eyes met for once as he gently squeezed my hand. My heart raced a little. I felt vulnerable, exposed but safe. Safe with him.


	19. Chapter 19

From: Zayn 01:15  
Thank you.  
The headlines talked about a secret rendez-vous, a love story like Romeo and Juliet said someone who had only paid half-attention in English class. Even the pictures looked romantic. Black and white. Zayn with his arm up on the frame of the pub’s door, edged in shadow while watching me climb into a cab. Someone profiled the shoes and they sold out from Aldo.

It didn’t feel like that at all. The meeting threw me off kilter because I expected to win. Not that it was a game, but I had earned the right to be angry. I didn’t expect to feel any pity for Zayn. Or myself. I didn’t expect to feel as if we were more alike than even we knew. I recognized what it felt like to be lost.

For once, I had trouble caring what anyone was saying in any tabloid.

I had dinner with Vidya and Jess that Wednesday.

“You have definitely gotten fancier, my gosh,” said Jess, embracing me. “Come on in, I’m cooking on my off day for you.”

I could smell something delicious cooking on the stove and I let her lead me into a small open plan flat where I could practically touch both walls. Shelves of books lined the walls making the space small with a mix of science fiction and cookbooks and literature and VHS and CDs. There was no ordering principle I could discern. It was very cluttered but cozy. A small grey kitten came and wound itself around my legs.

“That’s Stella,” Jess called from the kitchen.

“Stella’s a stupid name for a cat. You don’t name animals people names.” Vidya called from the couch I was standing by.

“I’m not naming the cat Paprika or Cinnamon, Vidya.” Vidya sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes.  
“We’ve no room for a cat either way. And especially a grey one to shed all over my black clothes.” But she scooped up the cat in her lap anyway and pet her while cooing nonsense.

“How’s your week been?” I asked.

“We’re filming this new documentary about London in the time of the Roman Empire with the biggest prick of a professor. Whenever we’re not shooting he’ll tell me about his adventures in India, like I give a fuck.”

“Is he flirting with you?” I asked.

“I fucking hope not. He’s my grandda’s age. Just likes to hear himself speak. Other than that it’s all really boring. Trying to find a new place closer to Jess’ restaurant that’s not going to cost my whole salary.”

“Sometimes I think I should just live in Guelph and plan baby showers instead, you know?” I said. We bonded over living in overpriced cities while working in creative industries.

“Dinner’s ready! You eat dinner hot or not at all,” Jess called.

Her face was red and sweaty from the heat of the kitchen but Vidya leaned down and kissed her cheek. We sat in a little nook beside the kitchen. Like the rest of their apartment, it was crammed with books and papers all over the table, which Vidya unceremoniously dumped into a bin under the table.  
“Sorry for the mess, I was writing out some recipe ideas earlier,” Jess said.

She served spaghetti with mushroom bolognese on mismatched bowls. I took one bite, and embarrassingly dropped out of the conversation completely, eating my first bowl and getting up to get myself a second bowl.

“Sophie, I asked about your boyfriend?” Vidya waved her hands in front of my face.

I chewed as quickly as possible.

“Didn’t end up working out. He’s a great guy but we weren’t really right for each other.”

“To be honest, I was surprised you even f---” Jess kicked Vidya under the table. “Ow, what was that for? You were just as surprised as I was.”

“Believe me, I know.” I said placatingly. I worried for Vidya’s shins. “I wasn’t exactly dating much.”

“So?” Jess prompted.

“I’m single. Right now, no one’s given me a really good reason not to be.”

With a smile, Jess wrote out her recipe for the pasta on a scrap paper. When they went to both get dessert and I spied them kissing and giggling in the kitchen, I faked a headache and went home early though it made me feel guilty. But more than guilt churned my stomach. That feeling followed me home from London.

From: Zayn 03:45  
Please give me some time. I don’t have the right to ask you for anything. I know that. The tour is almost over. I’ll be okay. I’ll be in touch soon. Take care Sophie x

Before I could start to wonder when I would hear from Zayn next, my knee had healed enough that I could go on a gentle jog every morning to stop my thoughts racing. Work picked up again. Dallas. San Diego. Anchorage.

Draft texts:  
I don’t even know what I am waiting for. Do you?

I miss you. I didn’t expect to. I don’t want to do this again. What is this anyway?

I hope you’re well. I almost called Harry to see how you are, haha. I don’t think we’re quite friends yet. I look at your tweets and pictures. Someone else probably writes them. I never thought to ask. It still helps me sleep.

This is stupid. You’re stupid.

Are you thinking of me too?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end for Zayn and Sophie. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart if you've followed them all the way through. There'll be a letter on my tumblr, but this did mean a lot to me. Especially the part where you all chimed in. 
> 
> Catch Harry and Cassidy in my new fic Poster of a Girl, coming soon. 
> 
> Love,
> 
> Tee

“Soph, you know what’s interesting?” Cassidy called from her room to the living room. She had settled in as my roommate for a month without much fuss. My work kept me out mostly in afternoons and evenings with the occasional late morning and twice monthly trips. Cassidy was out most evenings at events or parties.

We weren’t often home together but the apartment felt more like home when she was there. Except tripping over furniture she had rearranged, I was enjoying living with her. She was always leaving little notes or bringing home little trinkets from work or something she thought I would like. The fact that I had a landline amused her. The fact it rang in the morning in her room that had formerly been my office did not.

“Yeah?”

“Someone named Cassidy is on the phone and wants to know some stuff about Zayn. Weird right?” Her tone was breezy but I knew better. She chatted pleasantly for about a minute before starting in. “You’re a parasite, a low life and you should feel terribly that you are stuck trying to trick someone into saying something you can misquote. Get a fucking life. I hope you burn in hell.”  
“It really doesn’t help when you do that, you know.” I said as she hung up the phone. She rolled her eyes at me.

“I don’t know how you fucking stand it. No one calls me they just leave shitty comments on the internet.” I sighed and shrugged. Another reminder I hadn’t heard from him in too long.

“See you later Cass.” It was time for work.  
“Blot your lipstick before you leave the house!”

I paused briefly to do just that, and picked up the pace on my walk to work. It was getting warmer out, with a bit of sun to chase away the chill. I still wore my winter coat like a shield from any errant breeze and a small bit of comfort. Today was our quarterly company wide meeting. Everything was in order and I had caught up on all paperwork and my very small part of the presentation for the boutique team. I walked into the boardroom and it went reasonably well for an end of the day two hour meeting with fifty people and lots of powerpoints and graphs.  
“One last order of business. Chris, Sophie, please come to the front of the room.” I hesitated slightly but Chris nodded at me across the boardroom table and we met where Arif was standing. Samantha, my direct boss and the head of Corporate was flanking him, along with Jillian, the head of Weddings and Maisie, the head of Private. I was nervous but unsure of what he wanted with us.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had to do this for two people at once. Here at Sparkle, we’re a team that rewards creativity, flexibility and hard work. Christopher Vance from Weddings and Sophie Adeng from Boutique Corporate are exemplary of this. Which after a year of working with us, they have both been promoted to Event Managers. And in Sparkle tradition...”

Arif revealed two shot glasses full of silver sparkles hidden behind his back and dumped them on our heads. I laughed unexpectedly, joy making me feel lighthearted. Even after our talk, I hadn’t expected to be promoted so soon. Nor had I remembered the tradition.

“Remember that it’s bad luck to brush them away,” Camille added. I shook hands with each of the department heads, and other staff congratulated us. There were cupcakes too.

“You have a guest,” Kim from reception told Chris.

He brightened as he caught sight of a smiling brown haired girl wearing an ill fitting black skirt suit and large grey glasses that dominated her face. But her laughter was like the pealing of tiny bells and he looked at her like there was no one else in the room. This had to be Saoirse, the investment banker girlfriend I had been teasing him about.

“You did it! Congrats babe.” She kissed him and I averted my eyes because I felt like I was intruding on something private. After I was finally introduced, I begged off dinner with them to go home to my flat feeling mostly lonely and tired, but genuinely happy. It would have been awkward although Chris and I had mostly returned to normal. He didn’t get much time with Saoirse between their schedules. I texted Aunt Wanda and went home.

Cassidy and I shared most of a bottle of cheap sparkling wine in celebration when we heard a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” She offered. I shrugged.

Her voice was low and urgent at the door, and something about the tone worried me. “I don’t care what you want. Go away.”

“Who’s at the door?” I asked.

“No one.” She called cheerily at the same time Harry said, “It’s me, Harry.”

I pushed my way to the door, and there was Harry Styles indeed, looking jetlagged and annoyed with Cassidy.

“What are you doing here? Is something wrong?” Alarm rang in my voice and he held both palms out in a gesture meant to calm.

“He’s going to kill me but I wanted to talk to you first. To tell you that...well...” Cassidy and I both looked at Harry expectantly. “Fuck. I’m no good at this crap. He’s my best friend. I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to say I’m sorry. If you give him a chance to talk when he comes to see you tomorrow it would mean a lot to me.”

Harry stood in my apartment hallway less than a half day off of the last tour date if I had my calculations correct. Sweaty, tired and likely straight from the first flight to Toronto. He was terrible with words and I wasn’t even sure if what he said counted as an apology. But he was here, and Zayn was here and that counted for something, didn’t it?

“Okay,” I managed.

“Get out of here before you’re spotted Styles,” Cassidy added and he left. We sat in silence for a few seconds before the argument came.

“He doesn’t get to do this.”

“Cassidy, it’s fine.” I answered

“No it’s not fucking fine. I’ll tell him to go back home.” She held me on the couch after pouring me another glass.

“I’ve missed him this whole time.” I told her.

And it’s true. I never really stopped missing him and I wasn’t sure if that was the same as love, but it burned so consistently in my soul that even the prospect of seeing him was enough to set my body alight with nerves and joy. It was like I’d held my breath waiting for something, not knowing it was him. It had always been him. Not for lack of trying, I couldn’t imagine anyone else but Zayn. I knew I wanted someone to kiss me in the kitchen while cooking. Someone to bring along on work trips to wait for me back at the hotel. Someone to wake me up on Saturday mornings with sloppy kisses and smiles. But it had never been just someone. It was Zayn.

I slept poorly and woke up early to sip some peppermint tea and stare out the window. I went for the shortest run I could feel good about before coming back and pretending to read the newest Margaret Atwood though the words kept slipping away and I got through three pages in an hour. 

At ten o’clock Cassidy left for a photoshoot but not before giving me a tight hug. At exactly midday, the buzzer downstairs rang.

“Who is it?”

“Zayn.” I buzzed him in. The forty seconds it took to get upstairs felt like forever but I still startled when he finally knocked. I opened the door and we stared at each other. He looked tired, I thought, skimming his face, but better than the last time I had seen him. Happier. Zayn was scanning me too as if he was looking to memorize my features.

“Hi,” I squeaked.

“Sophie.” And there was a wealth of feeling behind my name I couldn’t identify behind the way he said my name. “It’s so good to see you, you have no idea.”

“It’s good to see you too.” I murmured. My heart was racing having him here in my living room looking all the while like he belonged on my couch next to my records and potted plants, “You came here after your last UK show?”  
“I wanted to wait until I could see you in person to tell you something.” At this, he grasped my hand in his. “Sophie, I thought I finished everything I had to say when I told you I was sorry. I didn’t. Right now, I’m trying to break the habit of just accepting that things are the way they are supposed to be. I kept a photo of you with my passport for the last leg of the tour because my counsellor told me to keep something with me that brings me some sort of hope. I picked you without even thinking of it, because you’ve always meant that to me. A possibility for something good. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Especially when I didn’t. I wish I spent more time making you smile because it’s my favourite thing.”

“This is it. I wanted to tell you that I love you. I always have. I’m yours if you’ll have me.” He waited a couple beats before exhaling steadily.

My heart hammered in my chest and I kissed him. I kissed him because I was at home with no one around. I kissed him because he felt like coming home after so long. He responded with equal fervor, coaxing my mouth open until our breaths mingled. Zayn was holding me against himself, anchoring us in place. I knew.

“I never stopped loving you. All the rest is noise,” I said.


End file.
